


only demons come to mind

by manybumblebees



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manybumblebees/pseuds/manybumblebees
Summary: Next to Nolan, TK’s slamming his gear around and swearing, and that, too, is becoming routine.





	only demons come to mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dannybsdadbod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannybsdadbod/gifts).



> Title from Brandi Carlile's "Whatever You Do".

_there are reasons why a body stays in motion  
but at the moment, only demons come to mind_

*

Nolan’s barely even angry anymore, that’s what’s really fucked up. He isn’t anything but tired and sore, bending over in his stall to pull at the knot in his skate laces, a dull ache pounding in his side where someone rammed his stick right below Nolan’s pads three, four times and got away with it. It’s another blowout loss, another game to add to Nolan’s pointless streak. It’s only November, and already the season feels endless, repetitive, a long, gruelling slog that leaves him bruised and exhausted instead of pissed, like he should be, except he’s finding it hard to get at the feeling. It’s there, somewhere. It must be. He’s just, overwhelmingly, tired – of saying the same shit in interviews, of seeing everyone’s defeated faces, of showing up to practice to find he’s got yet another new set of wingers, and coach saying shit about lighting a spark under him, getting ‘er going.

Next to him, TK’s slamming his gear around and swearing, and that, too, is becoming routine. He looks like he means it, at least – TK always feels everything right at the surface, out loud, which is fine, it’s him, but Nolan’s tired, and they’ve been here five, six times this season already, and he wants to say, “Save some for next time,” but he doesn’t, because there’s a bunch of reporters clustered around Couts’ stall to ask the same damn questions they do every time, so they should probably keep it civil. The last thing they need is rumours of a locker room rift on top of everything else.

By the time Nolan gets his skates off, TK’s run out of gas, slumped in his stall with both hands in his hair, shaking with something that Nolan takes for anger until TK takes a long, hitching breath and Nolan realises he’s crying, or trying his best not to. That cuts through the numbness to the centre of him and sits there, painfully. 

Nolan can’t score, can’t make a clean pass to save his life, and he can’t even make himself care anymore, not as much as he should – not like TK, wiping a furtive hand across his eyes and blinking rapidly before starting to pull at his sock tape. It makes Nolan’s chest hurt.

He knocks his knee into TK’s, hoping to be reassuring, but TK looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Sorry,” he says thickly.

He has nothing to apologise for, but Nolan can’t say that, because he’s not good with stuff – feelings, and talking about them – and it’d only come out wrong, somehow, sound sarcastic or insincere.

“I’ll drive,” he offers instead.

“I’m fine.”

Nolan doesn’t call him out on the obvious lie.

The reporters move from Couts’ stall to swarm around TK, hiding him from view, and Nolan undresses the rest of the way listening to him answer questions calmly, his voice never wavering, never losing his patience. Nolan heads to the showers when the urge to deck Carchidi gets to be too strong. After, he towels off and gets the trainers to poke at his ribs and tell him what he already knows – bruised, not broken, ice it and you’ll be fine. 

He buttons himself back into his suit and sits down in his stall to wait for TK. He seems better when he gets out of the showers, chatting to Ghost about a podcast he’s been listening to. He never does hang onto to a mood for long; he doesn’t have the attention span.

He’s fine until he gets to the car and Nolan holds his hand out for the keys.

“I’m good to drive, Pat.”

“Okay,” says Nolan, and doesn’t take his hand back.

“You can take an Uber if you don’t trust me,” TK snaps.

“Or you can just let me drive.” 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust TK to get them home safely. He probably will. It’s just that Nolan would feel better if he drove himself.

TK glowers at him, looks like he’s about to argue for a second, and then just throws the keys at Nolan’s chest a little harder than he needs to. “Fine, knock yourself out. Try not to scratch it this time.”

Nolan lets that slide without comment, doesn’t bring up that he wouldn’t have clipped the bumper hitting a neighbour’s Kia if TK had parked his car better to begin with. He just gets in and reaches down for the lever to move the chair back.

TK climbs into the passenger’s seat and slams his door shut.

“Are you gonna put that back this time, or nah?” he says before Nolan’s even gotten the headrest adjusted.

Nolan ignores him, though it takes effort. He plugs his phone into the aux cord, queues up their driving playlist, and starts the car. TK bitches about his driving as Nolan pulls out of the players’ parking lot and merges into traffic, and Nolan ignores that, too.

When TK opens his mouth again, he cuts him off.

“You can keep trying to start shit with me, but it won’t make you feel any better.”

TK shoots him a look. “It might.”

“It won’t.”

Last time they’d shouted at each other in the car, TK’d banged on Nolan’s door at two in the morning just to apologise, which was nice, in a way, but Nolan's been thinking about his bed since before the final whistle, and he'd rather avoid repeating that experience in favour of getting a full night’s sleep.

He's expecting TK to argue, to needle and prod until Nolan’s limited patience runs out, but instead, he’s quiet for a second and then says, “Yeah, you're right.”

Any other day, Nolan would ask him to repeat that, whip out his phone and pretend to record it for posterity, but tonight, he knows to take the win and shut up. TK leans his head against the car window and stays like that until Nolan pulls into the parking structure beneath their building.

Nolan puts the seat back where it was. “Wanna grab breakfast tomorrow?” he tosses across the car to TK.

“Sure,” TK says flatly. He gives him a smile, too – a little forced, but it’s there – before he gets out of the car. He doesn’t wait for Nolan; takes the stairs two at a time.

*

Nolan wakes up disoriented the next day, feeling around the other side of the bed for his phone. It seems late. His ribs twinge when he rolls over to peer at the time – 10:14 – and it takes him a second to remember they have the day off, to swallow down the wave of panic and relax back into the pillow.

He’s supposed to have breakfast with TK, he remembers, but when he pulls up their thread on his phone to facetime him, check if he’s awake yet, there’s a message there already, from an hour ago.

_Not gonna make it for breakfast_

He probably just doesn’t feel like getting out of bed – as if Nolan would make him get up early. That’d involve having to get up himself.

 _Lazy_ , Nolan sends back, and then, _I don’t gave any food_. He doesn’t bother to correct the typo. He follows it up with a sadface emoji and falls back asleep waiting for TK to respond. 

When he wakes again, it’s nearly noon, and he has that gross feeling of having been in bed so long he’s passed through rested and is just gonna be tired all day. It’s tempting just to stay in bed, call the day a loss, but he drags himself up and into the kitchen to make coffee.

TK still hasn’t texted him back, but Ivan calls him as he’s pouring coffee into the largest mug he owns and asks if he wants to grab lunch and help him pick out new shoes, and Nolan’s not going to say no to shopping. TK doesn’t pick up when he Facetimes him, so he settles for a text.

_Grabbing lunch with provy, ill pick u up for dinner later?_

Ivan picks him up in his new car – a sleek, black BMW with seats comfier than Nolan’s couch – and get lunch at the little Italian place Ivan likes. Nolan provides commentary as Ivan tries on dress shoes and he buys himself a new tie, and when Ivan drops him back home it’s nearly time to get ready for team dinner.  
He’d checked his phone in the car. TK still hasn’t texted him back, and Nolan’s trying to remember if he seemed pissed when he went up last night. Not really. Not enough to ignore Nolan for most of the day – that sort of pettiness takes effort, especially for TK.

He doesn’t pick up when Nolan Facetimes to ask what time they’re leaving, and Nolan’s not– _worried_ isn’t the word. TK’s always losing his phone or letting it run out of battery or reading texts and forgetting to reply, and it’s probably nothing, but he still changes in a hurry and takes the stairs two floors up with his tie hanging loose around his neck.

Relief floods through him when TK opens the door. So maybe he _was_ worried. It isn’t often he goes most of a day without seeing TK, at least during the season, or even talking to him.

TK’s in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, which in itself is unremarkable, but he looks rough, like he hasn’t slept at all, his hair a matted mess and his eyes puffy.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you were out with Provy.”

“I was, I told you I’d pick you up for dinner, though.”

TK runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in six new directions. “I’m good, actually, I’m not hungry.”

“It’s team dinner,” Nolan says. It’s not like, _front office said we had to be there_ obligatory, but it’s definitely _getting a ton of shit from Claude if you don’t go_ obligatory. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” says TK, too quickly and not quite looking at Nolan. The worried feeling he’d had earlier is back, and Nolan steps forward into TK’s apartment, closes the door behind him.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

TK sighs. “I’m not– I’m not doing well, Patty.”

Nolan makes a face. “Are you sick? Don’t get your germs on me.”

“No, I’m just–” TK runs a hand through his hair again. “I’m just struggling?”

“Struggling how?”

“I don’t know.”

He sounds lost, and looks it. Tired, too. Small, in the way that he never seems small, even though Nolan's got a good five inches on him. He always somehow takes up more space than you’d expect, always moving and talking. He’s too quiet, now, too still, standing in his entryway saying, “I just– I can’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” TK says again. “Everything.”  
Nolan feels like shit for not checking in on him until now, for spending his whole day in bed and then with Ivan while TK was up here going through shit.

TK hates being alone. He’d said so once, trying to pass it off as a joke, which it clearly hadn’t been. He’d driven his truck down from Ontario to Philly and been by himself that whole time, cooped up in the car for hours, and by the time he got out he’d been almost manic, bouncing off the walls.

“I don’t really like spending that much time in my own head,” he’d said, in the middle of a 20-minute rant about something else. Nolan had thought that was fucked up then, and he still does, but it also explains a lot about TK.

“Hey,” Nolan says gently, stepping close to TK and putting his hand on TK’s shoulder. TK doesn’t shrug him off.

Nolan's not a hugger, generally. Off the ice, he doesn't usually hug anyone but his family, really, and that's only because they make him. TK’s tactile, though, always touching Nolan, launching himself at him in greeting, sleeping on his shoulder on the plane, crawling into Nolan's bed on the road after a rough game and wrapping himself around him. He'd stop if Nolan asked, but Nolan's never asked. He kind of got used to it. It's nice. He likes the reminder that TK likes him, that he wants to be close.

He pulls TK in, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as tight as he can. TK’s small enough to tuck under Nolan’s chin. “You should’ve said something.”

“Didn’t wanna ruin your whole day,” TK mutters into his shoulder.

“You’re not,” Nolan reassures him. “You don’t wanna go to dinner?”

“I don’t know if I can face everyone.”

That’s more worrying than anything else, but Nolan swallows against the rush of concern and tries not to let it show. He relaxes his grip on TK’s shoulders. “Lemme go call G, alright? I’ll be back in a sec.”

He steps away and instantly regrets it. TK’s standing there with his arms by his sides looking just as lost as before, or worse, but Nolan pushes on. He has a plan. It’s maybe not a good one, but it’s something. “Be right back, okay?” he says to TK, who doesn’t seem to hear him, or at least doesn’t respond. He reluctantly turns his back on him and heads out of the apartment, down the stairs fast enough he almost misses the final step. He lets himself back into his own place and calls Claude.

“Hey man,” says Nolan when he answers. “Teeks isn’t feeling well, so we’re not gonna make it tonight.”

He wedges the phone between his shoulder and his ear to free his other hand and undoes his belt, wincing at how loud it is and hoping Claude can’t hear. He doesn’t want to have to explain why he’s taking his clothes off while he’s on the phone to him. He should’ve just texted.

“Shit,” Claude says. “Take care of him, alright? I don’t wanna be stuck with Jake on my wing next game.”

“Hey,” Jake protests loudly in the background, over the din of people talking. They must already be at the restaurant.

“Jakey’s not going anywhere.”

He almost asks, G, what do I do when TK’s falling apart? How do I fix it? Maybe that’s why he called, instead of texting. Claude’s who you go to when shit goes wrong. He’s only a dick until it counts, until you need him. This feels private, though, not something TK’d want the rest of the team to know, so Nolan says his goodbyes and hangs up.

He pulls on a pair of sweats and swaps his sneakers for a pair of slippers, and on a whim, he gathers up the duvet from his bed in both arms, trying to wad it down into something more portable. He could just grab TK’s upstairs, but he doesn’t want to bet on TK having done laundry since the start of the season.

One of their neighbours gives him a weird look when he steps out into the hallway in pyjamas, holding a duvet, but he just smiles at her and throws her a polite “ _Have a nice day_ ” before taking the stairs back up to TK’s floor.

Nolan shoulders into his apartment, duvet-first. He’s half expecting TK to still be standing in the same spot he left him in, but TK’s on the couch, hunched in on himself and staring blankly ahead. He doesn’t acknowledge Nolan, barely seems to notice that he’s back until Nolan dumps the duvet on him.

“What’s this?” he says flatly.

Everything about him is muted, like someone’s turned down the volume on him. There’ve been times when Nolan would’ve killed for that, for TK to be just a little _less_ , but now he has it, he doesn’t want it. All he wants is to fix it, for TK to smirk and say, _Just kidding, Pats, let’s go to dinner_ , and jump on his back and demand a piggy-back ride to the elevator. Instead, he says, “I thought you’d gone to dinner.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you like this,” says Nolan, dumping the duvet in TK’s lap.

“Oh,” says TK, in that same, hollow voice. “You can. You should.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me, bud. Lie down.”

TK shoots him a blank look, but he lies back on the couch. Nolan squeezes in next to him – it’s a big sectional, but it’s still not quite big enough for two hockey players, even if one of them is TK. He shuffles closer, wedging TK against the back of the couch. TK’s pressing into his ribs awkwardly, like this, sending a sharp stab of pain down Nolan’s side, so he jostles him some more until TK’s sprawled mostly on top of him, his face pressed into Nolan’s neck. Nolan pulls the duvet over the two of them and puts his arms around TK, who’s reassuringly solid and warm, and right here where Nolan can keep an eye on him.

“You don’t have to do this,” TK mutters.

“Okay,” says Nolan, meaning _Yes, I do_ and _Stop arguing_. “I’m doing it, though.”

TK lets out a long breath, and some of the tension in his back relaxes. Skin-to-skin contact is meant to be comforting, Nolan read that somewhere, so he works his hand up underneath TK’s hoodie, strokes gently down his bare back. It’s a little much, and as he’s doing he remembers it’s babies it’s meant to work on, it’s to get babies to stop crying, but TK isn’t complaining, so maybe it’s working.

“Do you wanna talk?”

“Not really,” says TK, a warm puff of breath against Nolan’s neck.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Nolan tracing down TK’s back, and TK gradually relaxing, melting into Nolan, his breathing evening out. Nolan’s pretty sure he’s falling asleep, which is good, maybe that’s what he needs.

“Do you ever feel like you’re letting everybody down?” TK says suddenly.

Nolan lets out a short, bitter laugh. “All the time, bud.”

TK lifts his head. “You’re not, though, Pat. No one thinks that.”

This time, Nolan’s laugh is genuine. “I’m supposed to be cheering you up, remember?”

“Yeah, but–”

Nolan pulls his hands from under the covers to bracket TK’s face, make sure he doesn’t go back to hiding in Nolan’s t-shirt. “No one thinks that about you, either, okay? Definitely not me.”

TK makes a face like he’s about to protest, so Nolan adds, “You’ve never let me down and you never will.”

He flushes at how soft that sounds, but he means it, and TK needs to hear it. 

TK’s quiet for a second, making no move to pull away from Nolan’s hands, just looking at him. “Thanks, Pats,” he finally says, quietly.

Nolan keeps his hands on his face, thumbs stroking down his scraggly sideburns. The longer they stay like this, the less it’s Nolan making a point, and the more it’s just gazing into each other’s eyes in their duvet cocoon, too close and too intense and definitely past the point of buddies.

There’s this thing Nolan does, sometimes, when TK falls asleep in Nolan’s bed on the road, or plays with Nolan’s hair when they’re watching a movie, or takes his hand on the plane when there’s a bad bout of turbulence and forgets to let go, afterwards. It’s a test: Nolan pictures the nosiest, most annoying of their teammates – Claude, usually – walking in on them, and decides whether he’d be cool with that. 

This time, the answer is a definite no. It’s been no a lot, lately.

It’s not the way Nolan’s touching him, he tells himself. It’s just – TK’s a little fragile right now, and no one but Nolan needs to see that. Same reason he didn’t tell Claude why they’re not at dinner. Still, he’s suddenly aware of the warmth and the weight of TK on top of him, how close their faces are. TK’s still looking at him, and it’s quiet enough that he can hear him breathing.

“Would it be weird if I kissed you?” Nolan hears himself say.

He regrets asking the instant the words leave his mouth. Of course it’s weird, jesus, what was he thinking? He wasn’t, is the thing, and he’s definitely spending too much time with TK if he’s getting into the habit of saying whatever pops into his head without thinking about it.

TK’s mouth curves into a crooked smile, the type no good can ever come of. 

“You wanna kiss it better?” he says, teasing.

It’s the first time Nolan’s seen him smile today, and he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, how much more TK looks like himself, mischievous and insufferable.

Nolan can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “Forget it.”

“No, do it. You might be onto something.”

TK’s still smiling, and Nolan can’t tell if he’s making fun of him, or if he– if he wants this. “No takebacks, Pats,” he says, and leans in until their mouths are impossibly close.

Nolan kisses him before he can think better of it, and TK’s mouth opens easily for him, soft against Nolan’s. The kiss is slow, gentle, the only way it could be, like this. Maybe not the way he would’ve expected TK to kiss, if he’d spent any length of time thinking about it. Nolan’s hand finds its way into TK’s hair, not grabbing, but carding his fingers through, and leaves it there even when TK breaks the kiss to pull back.

“Bro, you fucking kissed me,” he says, and smiles, soft.

Nolan grins back in response. “Yeah, bud. You kissed me back.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He says that so easily, looking right at Nolan, and Nolan’s breath sticks in his throat. He doesn’t know what the fuck to say to that, so he tips forward to kiss TK again instead of saying anything else stupid.

Maybe they can stay here forever, Nolan thinks irrationally, just keep kissing on the couch under Nolan’s duvet, and never have TK think he’s a disappointment to anyone.

TK pulls back again, and stays close this time, too. “Are you staying?” he says, like he’s been reading Nolan’s mind. Nolan wouldn’t even be entirely surprised if he could.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Only Demons Come To Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135693) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




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